I Can Fix You
by Taboo Princess
Summary: Sylar is back. Having regained his powers, he seeks revenge on all those that wronged him. Post Powerless.
1. Revenge

Sylar smiled crookedly, eyeing the can he had just plucked from the concrete with invisible hands. It just stared back at him, blankly. He lifted himself up, one hand on the brick wall to his right, and strolled into the lamp lit streets of New York, a smirk plastered to his face. He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of a very familiar blonde head.

Elle Bishop walked out the front door of Issac's loft, angry at herself for failing so miserably. She looked around suspiciously, as if she was afraid of being followed. Mohinder had offered to let her stay at his apartment for the night, but she declined. Elle was eager to speak with her father. She knew he wouldn't be happy, but she desperately needed someone to talk to. Someone to comfort her. Her father wasn't the best person to go to in this sort of situation, but she really had no one else. All her life, she had been locked away. Never knowing how to socialize properly with normal people, she had developed violent tendencies. Thankfully, this wasn't a problem in her line of work.

Sylar followed Elle, humming casually to himself. The girl didn't suspect a thing. She was too caught up in her own affairs to notice the tall, black-clad man following her. He had seen that wonderful demonstration of her powers earlier, and was excited to try them himself.

Elle skittered down the now-darkened streets, headed toward Kirby Plaza. Her Rolex shimmered in the light cast by lamp posts. It's silver hands read 'ten O'clock'. Shadows crossed the girl's face and she noticed a figure hidden in the black space behind her.

The blonde's heartbeat quickened as her head twitched backward instinctively, matching the ticking of her watch. Sylar ran toward her, his eyes fixed sharply on her small frame. Elle was nothing more than a little doll. Perfect but fragile. The power she had was not fit for her body. She was wasting her brilliance on trivial reconnaissance missions when she should be searching for something more. Sylar extended one arm, flicking his wrist slightly.

Elle crumpled immediately, her hands scrambling frantically at the unseen force choking her. She looked up to see an all-to-familiar face. The man's pale complexion made him glow eerily. Pangs of fear wracked the girl's heart and she clenched her fists tightly. Sparks rose from her fingertips, dancing their way up her arm. Energy burst from her, unbridled and chaotic. It lit the area, bouncing off the surfaces of buildings and burning everything in it's wake.

Sylar shielded his eyes with an arm, removing it once the light faded. He grinned, releasing his grip on Elle's throat. She coughed, pulling herself up on unsteady legs. "Impressive," Sylar chuckled, taking a few more steps toward her. "but can you do more than make a pretty light show?" Elle scowled, focusing her energy into her hands.

"You'll know soon enough," She hissed, shooting countless volts at her assailant's chest. Sylar was thrown backward, but miraculously managed to stay on his feet. The remnants of the shock still clung to the night sky, making the air shimmer. Long charred streaks decorated Sylar's chest where his shirt had been burned. He tried to hold his ground, but Elle noted his fingers and legs shaking a bit.

The tall man struggled to keep conscious. The scene flickered in and out of focus, but he continued to formulate a plan in his head. Steadying himself, he walked toward Elle, grabbed her wrist, and held it close in his pale hand. "It'll take a lot more than that to keep me down," He whispered, his face uncomfortably close to hers. Sylar ran his cold fingers down the girl's trembling cheek. She pulled away at his touch, avoiding the gaze of the man towering over her.

"Well, are you going to kill me?" She asked, rather bluntly. Her voice remained strong, though she was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Sylar smiled devilishly, looking down at the scared girl he held.

"Not just yet."


	2. Gray

Blue and red lights flashed past Kirby Plaza, a sign that someone had notified the police of the strange noises and loud sounds. Sylar cursed wordlessly, pulling Elle into an alley nearby. He caught his breath for a moment, still barely holding onto consciousness. He held Elle by the wrist still, as if she was an anchor to this world. He would not let himself rest until he got revenge.

Elle looked fearfully up at Sylar, thoughts racing through her mind. If she were to try and escape, she wouldn't get far. Not when this man had so many powers at his disposal. She had noticed, though, that he seemed to be minutes from passing out. If she could only stall until he slipped away…

Taking a chance, Elle ripped from Sylar's grip. She pulled a small syringe from her purse and swiftly plunged it into the man's neck. He stumbled backward, smirking as if nothing had happened. With a flick of his thin fingers, he sent a garbage can flying at the girl. Luckily, in his drug-induced haze, he had missed entirely.

Dusting herself off, Elle walked over to Sylar. He had begun rambling incoherently. "What? No, please. This is wrong. Not how it was supposed to- Oh god," Staring at Elle, he put both hands on her shoulders. "You drugged me." He whispered, seeming completely sane for a moment. It was then that he collapsed. She let him fall, too. His head hit the pavement with a sickening crack.

In Sylar's mind, one scene replayed. Over and over. As if someone was playing DJ with his thoughts, this particular memory skipped backward and forward randomly. Words slurred, images skittered. But he knew this memory, nonetheless. That cup of tea, tasting so delicious for a moment. The bitter aftertaste it left in his mouth. The reason, he was soon to realize, was that he had been betrayed. Or, had he been the betrayer? Either way, there was fury. And the pain, well, that was terrible. Just behind his neck, he remembered. And the words, "You may just do some good before you die," They echoed. Double toned, also. They were spoken in two distinctly different voices, somehow melded together. One was familiar, dark and mocking. The other was light, an intoxicating mixture of British and Indian, and tinged with some uncontrolled hate.

The second voice, from his dream, spoke. "It's good that you called me," The man said, in hushed tones.

"Yes. I'll need you and Elle to monitor his progress. You know how dangerous he can be, so I trust you will take the proper measures to keep him in check." Another man hissed.

"Of course, Daddy, we'll take _good_ care of him until the orders are given." A girl responded, giggling slightly.

Sylar opened his eyes groggily and was met with gray. Lots of gray. A small groan escaped his lips as he attempted to lift himself up. From across a huge pane of glass, three pairs of eyes stared at him. Bob, Mohinder, and Elle were congregated in a small circle, exchanging surprised glances and paperwork.

"Well, good luck." Bob whispered, leaving through a side door.

His own aching head distracted Sylar momentarily. He clutched it, and realized his forehead had been wrapped in white bandages. A tube trailed from his exposed wrist on up to an IV. Looking down, he saw that someone had changed his clothes as well. The white tee and sweatpants were quite familiar, as was the room he sat in. He focused his gaze directly on the two figures looking in at him.

Mohinder averted his eyes, and turned to Elle. "I'm not really sure about protocol," He began, "what should we begin with?"

The girl arched an eyebrow. "First, we check his vitals," She explained, examining her nails. She displayed none of the heroic courage that she had earlier. Now, she practically radiated with self contentment. She had, after all, caught Mr. Big Bad.

_Even the worst of monsters could be tamed with enough drugs, _Mohinder thought, bitterly. "So, we actually have to go in there?" He asked, eyeing Sylar uncertainly.

"Don't worry," Elle reassured him, "he can't use his powers while in that tank, and the sedatives are keeping him pretty weak."

Mohinder nodded, walking through the front door of the glass containment unit. He was face to face with this monster. Again.


	3. Charred

Mohinder sidled into the cell nervously, as if any false step could bring him to ruin. Sylar twitched at the sight of a familiar face, holding a hand to his pounding head. He looked up at the Indian man almost pleadingly. This was how Sylar got what he wanted, and Mohinder knew first hand. He tricked, manipulated, and alienated everyone in the way of his objective. And he enjoyed every moment of it.

Doctor Suresh looked behind him at Elle, who sauntered up to his side. The girl took a few steps toward a virtually-harmless Sylar, and turned to Mohinder, wide eyed. "Before you do the examination, can I play with him a bit?" She asked, batting her eyelashes. At this, Sylar looked down at the bandages around his chest tentatively. He really didn't feel like being electrocuted again. If he could only get his hands on something sharp…

Suresh raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Play?" He asked, "well, I suppose. Just try not to injure him further. We still need to run a few tests before there are any major decisions made about his fate," He shuffled his feet a bit on the concrete floor. The was far too awkward a situation for him. In fact, he was only taking part in this madness to fulfill his debt to Elle.

A part of him, deep inside, wanted to rip out this man's throat. Either that, or help Elle torture him to death. But, no. Mohinder was a scientist, not a murderer. He would let Elle play her mind games, and do what he was ordered to straight afterward. Sylar deserved a taste of his own medicine, to say the least.

Elle's face lit up at this comment. "So, do you think you could leave the two of us alone for a moment?" She questioned, beaming. Mohinder nodded, and promptly disappeared through the door and out into the hallway.

As if on que, the girl skipped to Sylar's bedside. She held a hand out toward him, sparks erupting from her index finger playfully. "I just want to make myself clear," She hissed, almost inaudibly. "if you attempt to escape in any way, you will have me to answer to. Father has put me in charge of you until further notice. Doctor Suresh and Mr. Bennet have also been assigned to your case, to assist me, of course," She smirked, completely self-assured. After the company finished their research on him, Sylar would almost definitely be put down. Just like the dog he was.

Sylar flashed a false smile and wrapped his hand around Elle's, effectively extinguishing the small amount of electricity she had been giving off. "When I get out of here, you'll be one of the first dead," He whispered, still grinning.

Elle attempted to pull her hand away, but Sylar's iron grip kept her where she sat. "Let go," She said, strongly, but the man wouldn't yield. It was only when Mohinder entered the room that Sylar slid his hand away from the girl's.

Doctor Suresh, upon entering, went unnoticed by Elle. The girl's focus was completely on Sylar. She pressed one hand firmly on his chest, and shot several volts of pure energy into his already seared body. She had burnt straight through the bandages. "Don't ever touch me again!" She shouted, and stomped out of the room, dragging her feet as she went.

Mohinder stared awestruck at the newly-barbequed murderer before him. He wondered how the man had managed to make Elle so angry in a matter of minutes. The doctor tip-toed over to Sylar's bed, and pulled out his medical instruments. He held out a syringe of clear liquid, containing modified curare. Bob had ordered that Sylar receive one injection every twenty four hours. Suddenly, he felt quite nostalgic.

Just being in close proximity to this man reminded him of his time traveling with Zane. Well, not Zane, Sylar. Or was it Gabriel? Mohinder could no longer keep this man's aliases straight. Sighing, he strode over to the IV and watched as the curare began to take affect.

Sylar felt the twitching in his limbs, caused by that meddling girl, cease. Immediately after, his fingers buzzed and he slipped into paralysis. He watched as that foolish doctor slipped a stethoscope on.

Mohinder pressed the cool metal disk of his stethoscope onto the charred flesh of his unwilling patient. Noting Sylar's irregularly rapid heartbeat on his clipboard, he proceeded to treat the burns Elle had caused. It really was going to be a long day for the poor doctor.


	4. Useless

Sylar was curled up in a ball, cradling his pounding head in his hands. He bit into his right thumb, trying not to focus on the pain. Thoughts screamed in his mind, but he was unable to express them. Grunting, he slammed his bloody fist into the glass wall. A dull thud resonated, and the man was able to detect frantic footsteps nearing his cell.

Mohinder Suresh entered the room accompanied by Noah Bennet. The geneticist looked particularly frazzled. His dark curls were matted together, and half moon circles hung from his chocolate eyes. It wasn't surprising, though. He had a little girl to look after now, and was having trouble balancing both of his lives.

Then there was Noah, who was being blackmailed into staying with the company. That didn't sit well with him or his family, but he really had no choice. So there he stood, trying his best not to lose his temper.

Bennet stood opposite Sylar, with a thick pane of glass separating the two. "What's the problem, Gabriel?" He asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed. The prisoner groaned, not even bothering to argue about his name. He and Bennet had played this game before, but he wasn't eager to participate at the moment.

"My head," Sylar choked, "I can barely move because of those damn drugs, but my head is still throbbing." Noah and Mohinder exchanged worried looks. They had clearly realized that this wasn't just a display of Sylar's usual theatrics. After being the company's personal guinea pig for two days, he had complained about a persistent headache ever since they began testing.

Mohinder had dismissed this as a fib, reasonably, as he was used to the man's lies and trickery. Now it seemed that he wasn't just masquerading. He was, in fact, in real pain.

Noah entered the containment unit, keeping a watchful eye on Sylar. He knelt down silently and motioned for Suresh to come in as well.

Sylar was too pained to even contemplate taking this chance to escape. He sunk onto the concrete floor, fidgeting uncontrollably. His face showed no hint of emotion, however. The man's skin had paled by at least three shades since he was abducted, and his eyes seemed almost dead. It wasn't that he had stopped fighting, though. In his mind he was constantly scheming and imagining the terribly painful things he would do to every one of his captors once he escaped.

Doctor Suresh rushed over to the murderer's side, feeling for a pulse, only to be met by the man's sigh of disgust.

"I'm conscious, _doctor_," Sylar whispered, his voice labored. "just make the pain stop." Mohinder scowled. He didn't need to be mentally abused by this sociopath. Though the fact that he was so desperate for help did send a little smile flittering across the Indian's face.

"Could this be a side-effect of the treatments?" Bennet asked Mohinder politely.

The doctor scratched his head, thinking. "It's possible," He said, sounding unsure.

Meanwhile, Sylar was getting more distraught by the second. Unexpectedly, he sat up, attempting to regain his usual calm composure. "Go and get someone who _can_ help me, unless you want me to do something drastic," He warned slowly, staring directly at Mohinder as he spoke.

"Oh, go get Bob," Bennet directed lazily, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor. "I'll watch Gabriel while you do." Noah wasn't really worried, though. He knew that Mr. Gray wouldn't dare make any false moves while he had his gun at hand.

Having calmed down considerably, Sylar turned himself so the back of his head rested against the cool glass pane. "I hate feeling so useless," He said, staring up at the gray ceiling.

The ghost of a smile played on Noah's empty face for a moment. "You and I both, Gabriel,"


	5. Hope

Mohinder led Bob into Sylar's cell very professionally. He now carried a white plastic briefcase, filled with various drugs and medical instruments. Sighing, he slipped to his knees and unclipped the bag, scattering the vials and syringes on the floor before him.

Bob leaned against the side wall, watching the doctor's frantic shuffling of glass. "Give him some Nitrazepam for now. Just until we figure out what the problem is," He directed, sorting through a stack of papers in a manila folder labeled 'Gabriel Gray'.

Carefully removing the bottle of sedatives from the case's pocket, Mohinder dropped two pills into his palm. He handed them grudgingly to Sylar, who downed them immediately.

The man was out cold within minutes. Bob ushered Doctor Suresh and Noah to the corner of the cell. "I think we have a problem," He breathed, holding up Sylar's records. The particular sheet he was holding was neatly typed, but carried a quite disturbing bit of information. "Why didn't you tell me that he exhibited similar symptoms last time he was here, Bennet?" Bob snapped, staring Noah down.

Noah merely shrugged. "Would it have helped if I had?" He asked, innocently.

Bob held one hand to his forehead, as if the action was relieving some sort of pressure in his head. "Last time this happened, Gabriel nearly had a seizure, and shortly later his heart failed. We can't lose such a valuable subject, Bennet. Not now," He said, lowering his hand.

Bennet smirked. He thought himself quite clever for keeping the information to himself all this time. He knew exactly how Gabriel would react to the drugs, because he had ensured that Mohinder give him the same dosages as the last time he was admitted. Then, if all had gone as planned, the murderer would die, and his Claire wouldn't have to worry about being tracked down by anyone. Of course, this plan was obviously not going to work now that Bob had found the files.

"I'm sorry," Noah said softly, "it won't happen again,"

Bob nodded, turning to Mohinder. "Stop all treatments, excluding curare, for the time being. Just to be sure, I will tell the staff to stay out of this cell until we find medication that can control him without nasty side effects,"

The doctor gave a murmur of consent, disconnecting the IV from Sylar's limp wrist. "So I can't continue the examinations until we find the right drugs?" He asked, excited at the prospect of taking a short holiday while the medical kinks were worked out.

Raising his eyebrows, Bob shook his head. "No, Doctor Suresh. We need you to give the curare injections, as well as oversee Gabriel during withdrawal. It won't be pleasant, but I trust you to keep him alive," He instructed, tucking the papers he held safely into their file.

"But you could have any of the other doctors in this facility stand in, couldn't you? Bob, I really want to spend more time with Molly now that she's well," Mohinder pleaded, his dark eyes staring at Sylar's unconscious form.

"It's not that simple, Mohinder. You have experience with Mister Gray, and most of our other doctors would feel intimidated by his mere presence. You are the only one fit for the job. Elle will be attending the examinations, in case there are any problems," Bob explained.

This comment received a scowl of disappointment and contempt from the over-worked Indian man. "Yes, sir," He muttered, obediently. Sometimes Mohinder worried that he was becoming too involved with The Company. His work seemed to be eating away at his schedule, and now he would have even less quality time with his family. He could only try to take comfort in the fact that he was helping people.

Sylar woke the next day, cursing the sun for being so bright. It took him a moment to realize that there was no sunlight, but the overhead lights of his cell had been turned up as far as possible. Wincing, he attempted to pull himself into an upright position, only to have his hands slip from under him. His body felt numb, but that familiar headache was virtually gone. He was startled to find Elle sitting at the foot of his bed, staring at him intently.

"You're back on the curare," She stated, her eyes darting across the room to where Mohinder stood, taking notes on his clipboard.

The doctor looked up to notice that Sylar was finally awake. He strode over to the bedside, clinging tightly to his notes. "The headache is gone, I hope?" He asked, tentatively.

Smiling, Sylar nodded. He knew that Mohinder was still frightened of him, to some extent, by the man's pounding heart. "Why are you so nervous, _doctor_?" He questioned, mockingly, cocking his head to the side.

Mohinder averted his eyes, and proceeded to inject a large amount of the drug into Sylar's arm. The man flinched slightly at the sudden pain.

Saddened by the doctor's lack of response, Sylar chewed on his lip. He had already noticed that his non-physical powers were still working. He could make use of this, certainly.

After a few moments of frantic scribbling, Mohinder and Elle left him alone. Both of them surely had many important things to do. Places to go, people to drug.

Sylar perked his ears up, just waiting for some new toy to enter his cell. The cogs in his mind were turning slowly, and the minutes ticking away.


	6. Breakout

By Sylar's fifth day in The Company's holding facility, he was ready to leave. He had his escape plan down to the last detail, as well. It was written in the back of his mind in invisible ink, not to be revealed until the time came. Much like a magician with his tricks, he would never let anyone know of his plot until showtime.

Sylar ran every aspect of his scheme in his head and a never-ending number of possibilities emerged. Thankfully, most of these resulted in a successful breakout.

He waited patiently for his daily injections, hands resting on his lap. It was about the time of day that the effects of the curare began to fade. Sylar grinned. He could feel his fingertips once again.

At exactly 3:00, Elle and Suresh entered. Sylar knew this only from the handsome timepiece Mohinder wore on his left wrist. Elle propped herself against the side wall, watching Mohinder a bit too closely. It was very obvious that she was fond of the doctor.

Doctor Suresh pulled out the syringe of clear liquid, much more confident than he had been the day before. His expression was somber, but it wouldn't be for long. As soon as he neared Sylar's bed, the syringe was cruelly snatched away by his patient's pallid hands.

Smiling wolfishly, Sylar lunged at Elle. She had been too fixated on Mohinder to notice the curare changing hands minutes earlier. Before she realized what was happening, Sylar was standing over her, plunging the needle into her neck. She fell to the ground immediately, her body buzzing with unusable adrenaline.

Mohinder cursed, wishing he had been issued a tazer for this particular assignment. He ran toward Sylar, only to be forced against the brick wall by the man. Unable to use his telekinesis to it's full extent, Sylar could only knock the doctor out with a strong punch to the stomach.

Quickly, as not to alert the guards, the criminal swapped clothing with Mohinder. He placed Doctor Suresh's body on his bed, so that his face could not be viewed. He pushed Elle to the far corner, as well, so she couldn't be seen by the surveillance cameras.

Grabbing the doctor's clipboard and bag, the murderer made his way through the door, locking it behind him. He walked down a few corridors, completely unnoticed, until he stumbled upon a door labeled 'Records.'

The disguised Sylar entered the room silently, he heart thumping in anticipation. The whole area was filled with nothing but files. The manila folders filled large bookshelves, which covered every wall, each graced with a daintily printed name.

Sylar hummed to himself giddily, picking through the names. A few just seemed to jump out at him, so he grabbed their files right away. 'Rousseau, Juliet' and 'Sang, Danielle' were among the few tucked into his jacket pocket. He also snatched his own folder, just in case.

Once his clothing had been weighed down considerably, he made his way to the building's side entrance. He nodded kindly to a few of the employees he passed, trying his best to blend in. Eventually, he had escaped that damned facility. He found himself in an alley very near Kirby Plaza. This was, no doubt, where little Elle had been headed when she was attacked.

The murderer reasoned that he should probably leave New York for the time being. His revenge could wait, and it wasn't worth the risk of being caught again.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk, the glaring mid-day sunlight blinding him momentarily. Realizing that he must look quite odd, Sylar slipped off his stolen white coat, and plucked the files from it's pockets. He gathered all of his things into one hand, and called a cab with the other.

Surely enough, a hideously yellow vehicle came skidding to a halt where Sylar stood. He hopped into it, smiling sheepishly.

"Where to?" The slightly overweight driver asked, loudly.

He instructed the cabbie to take him to the parking garage where he had left Derek's car. Sylar would be needing his clothes if he was to leave the state.

After exactly five minutes, the taxi stopped abruptly in front of the tall building. This precise measure of time was thanks to Mohinder's pretty watch, which Sylar had taken along with his other clothing. Dipping into the back pocket of the doctor's jeans, Sylar pulled out a small leather wallet. He handed the driver a crisp twenty, telling him to keep the change.

Sylar walked fluidly into the garage, sneaking cautious glances at the people surrounding him. He took the elevator to the third level, and set out searching for his car. He hadn't forgot the number it was parked under, not even after a week. 'C-13' His mind reminded him, almost frantically.

His dark eyes met the beautiful work of metal after merely minutes of looking. Knowing that The Company's security had surely confiscated his keys, he started up the engine using that nifty power he had received from Ted Sprague.

Sliding into the front seat, he pressed hard on the gas, pulling out of the lot and hitting the streets of New York.

He flipped through Danielle Sang's file while driving, smiling evilly. The simple sheet listed not only the details of the girl's ability, but also her residence and personal information. According to the papers, she lived in Dayton, Ohio. It would be a nice place to lie low for a while, Sylar thought.


	7. Waitresses

Sylar drove for approximately five hours before stopping. He decided to pick up some coffee at a small roadside diner in Pennsylvania. While pulling his car into the parking lot in front, he checked Mohinder's wallet to be sure there was enough cash to get him by for a while.

The criminal flicked the car door closed with a wave of his hand. His powers were clearly working again and this made him genuinely happy.

Upon entering the diner, he was hit with a torrent of scented air. The smell reminded him of the dreadfully sweet things he had tasted while traveling with Doctor Suresh. That man had quite a love for sugar, that was for sure.

A cute girl of about twenty stood by the doorway, dressed in a simple black dress and a tacky checkered apron. She carried a stack of laminated menus in one hand and a notepad in the other. Her name tag proclaimed 'Anne' in blindingly pink, bubbly font. She smiled at the handsome stranger who had just entered. "How may I help you?" She asked, almost mechanically.

The tall man grinned back at her, running his fingers through his hair self-consciously. "A table for one, please." He stated, his eyes scanning the empty restaurant slowly.

Anne led him to a short table near the establishment's wide front windows and handed him a menu. "Can I start you off with something to drink?" She questioned, sweetly.

Looking through the list of drinks on the sheet he held, Sylar nodded. "Yes, please. I'd like a cup of coffee for now. Black, if possible." He requested, his voice much lighter than usual.

"Decaf?"

"No thanks."

The girl called Anne nodded, and half-skipped back to the kitchen. She returned shortly after with a plain mug and a coffee pitcher. Business was slow, not surprising, considering the time. It was nearly nine O' clock. The girl proceeded to pour her customer his coffee and rushed over to another waitress, about her age, back in the kitchen.

Sylar could hear her gush excitedly about him to the other girl. "He's just adorable! I swear. The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome." She whispered, unaware that snatches of her conversation were being overheard by the very man she spoke of.

This vivacious display of emotion made Sylar simultaneously nauseous and amused. Unsure of what to think, he set a ten dollar bill on the table, and left the diner quietly. That girl would be very upset when she found he had gone so quickly.

Sighing, he started up his car and pulled into the empty street. It would be at least another three hours until he reached Ohio. Unfortunately, he had little to entertain him on the way. On a whim, he flipped the car's radio on. He really had no idea what kind of station to look for. He turned the tuner until he found something half-decent to listen to.

It was this kind of music that made Sylar feel old. The particular song he was listening to seemed to go on forever. The lyrics were repetitive, and the singer sounded as if he was whining into his microphone half the time. Though, it was oddly catchy. The sort of thing that gets stuck in your head for days on end.

After a few hours of listening to crap like that, you start to like it. Sylar learned that first hand. He mentally listed the albums he needed to buy once he was in the clear.

The man's lips twitched into a smile as he entered Dayton. The sign welcoming him had a tiny image of the Wright Brother's plane on it. The words 'First In Flight' were printed in curling letters underneath. It was silly, Sylar thought. Everyone knew that the first plane had actually been tested in North Carolina. The only actual claim this city could pose was that the brothers had grown up in it. Though that wouldn't seem as impressive, really.

He drove his car through the downtown area, watching the shadowy figures dotting the streets. All around him, drug dealings, rape, and crime were happening. But these things didn't seem to affect him much. Sylar was used to the shady activities that went on in bigger cities. He had been all around the United States, and that was one of the few constants.

Grimacing, Sylar scanned the streets for a decent hotel. Eventually, he found a Marriot, not too far from the address in his files. He could use Mohinder's ATM card to procure enough cash to cover his room, if needed.

Luckily, there was a machine located directly inside the building. Without hesitation, he withdrew four hundred dollars. This was going to be an interesting trip.


	8. Routine

Sylar lounged languidly on his queen sized bed, flipping channels on the television. The room he was staying in was far superior to the motels he was used to. It was quite pricy, though. Thankfully, it was nothing Mohinder's ATM card couldn't handle. Sylar had extracted a large amount of money from the card before he checked into the hotel. He knew that whenever the doctor woke up, he would want to disable his account before he lost any more money.

Smirking characteristically, Sylar pulled Danielle Sang's file from his borrowed bag. According to these documents, the girl was a sixteen year old pyrokinetic. She lived with her adopted parents, Michael and Chelsea Sang. There was also an attached photo. It was one of those hideous school pictures, with the blue backdrops and airbrushed faces.

The girl looked harmless enough. She was very pale with freckles, huge grey eyes, and long blonde hair. Sylar quickly scribbled the girl's address onto the back of the photo, slipping it into his pocket for safe keeping.

He had changed into his own clothes since the day before. His long black coat and dark wardrobe made him feel at home. Even if he was five hundred miles away. Pulling his jacket on, he exited his room, walked through the main lobby, and found himself outside.

The cracked sidewalks he stood on were littered with discarded wrappers, bags, and soda cans. Sylar kicked one of the cans as he made his way toward his car. After sending a pulse of white-hot energy into the vehicle's hood, he hopped in the front seat. He revved the engine and began looking for the girl's house.

Eventually, he found himself in a tiny suburb of Dayton. He drove slowly along Far Hills Street, finding house number 171. It was fairly large and appeared to be made of stucco. Rounded red tiles paneled the roof and small puffs of smoke were coming from the round chimney.

Putting on his most honest smile, Sylar walked up to the front door. He rang the bell once, waiting patiently for someone to answer. Two minutes later, a prim looking brunette answered. Immediately, Sylar dove into his pre-prepared speech.

"Excuse me, miss. I'm Gabriel Sylar of the Fairmont school board. I'm here to speak with Danielle." He stated, his dark eyes glinting.

"Is something wrong at school?" The woman asked, worriedly.

"Oh, no," Sylar chuckled, "She has been accepted into the school's honors program. Your daughter is very gifted."

The woman nodded, clearly surprised, and invited 'Gabriel' inside. Once she had closed the door, Sylar flicked his left index finger out, sending Mrs. Sang flying into the wall. She was out cold right away.

Sylar crept up the staircase in the center of the living room and into the main hallway. Slowly, he opened each door. One by one, they turned up empty. The last room in the hall had a small door knob hanger dangling from it. 'Danielle' was spelt out in colorful letters in the center of the foam rectangle.

This made Sylar smile. He turned the knob quietly, and strode into the room. Danielle was lying on her bed, her nose buried in a copy of 'Activating Evolution.' She looked up at the man who had just rudely entered her bedroom.

The girl was quite different in person than in her school photo. Her long hair had been cut short, and dyed a dark shade of brown. A small pink streak webbed through the left side of her chestnut hair as well. She wore heavy green makeup around her eyes and a small hoop decorated her right eyebrow.

"What do you want?" She asked, testily. But Sylar didn't want to waste time with silly questions. He twitched his wrist in that all-to-familiar way, causing the girl to smash head-first into her bedroom mirror. Instinctively, she whirled around and set her fingertips alight with blue flames.

Shards of glass were stuck in the back of the girl's neck and blood trickled down her shoulders with every motion. She was tougher than she seemed, Sylar realized. It was possible that part of this bad girl façade was genuine. Breathing heavily, Danielle whipped her arm out, causing a wave of fire to leap on her attacker.

The flame curled through the air, wrapping around Sylar like the coils of a snake. He smirked, sending jets of icy mist into the area. The fire was instantly extinguished and the girl fell to her knees.

"Who are you?" She rasped, blood pooling on the carpet beneath her.

An eerie grin lit Sylar's face. He stood there over the dying girl, as if he were the angel of death himself. He knelt down next to Danielle, his lips very close to her ear. "Sylar." He whispered, cutting away at her scalp with a finger.

Then, mechanically, the murderer began his routine. Soon he would have that wonderful power. The ability to create and manipulate fire would serve him well.

…

Once he had completed his task, Sylar heard the back door of the house creak open. Daddy was home.


	9. Mistakes

Mr. Sang had returned home from a busy day at work when he was met with a quite unfortunate sight. He stepped into his living room only to find his poor wife, Chelsea, crumpled in a bloody heap before his fireplace. His mind was racing. It supplied long strings of explanations for this situation, but few were reasonable. He rushed over to his wife's side in a state of panic.

The man sighed when he heard her steady breathing and felt her pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips. Even so, there was blood running down the wall. It trailed across the carpet, and formed a splotchy halo around Chelsea's matted hair. Her eyes fluttered open and she reached up to her husband, assuring him that she would be fine. Her speech was slurred and it seemed that she had suffered a concussion of some sort.

Sylar crept down the main staircase, his hands still soaked in crimson. The man of the house appeared to be checking on his dear wife. The murderer chuckled, walking down the stairs. He held his hand out, prepared to take down the happy couple before him if they dared to move.

Noticing the intruder, Michael scrambled to his feet. He struggled to gather himself mentally as well. "Please," He said, "Take whatever you like, just don't harm my family further."

In response to the man's plea, Sylar held both stained hands up. "I've already taken what I came for." He explained, grinning at the resulting gasp. The bumbling businessman clung to his wife's hand, trembling fiercely.

"What?" He mumbled incoherently, all color leaving his cheeks. "Whose blood is that?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out." Sylar muttered cryptically, retreating to the first floor bathroom with phantom quickness, leaving a trail of dripping red behind him.

He entered the living room once again, his hands clean and nails pink. Michael was whispering frantically into his cell phone, a protective hand over his wife. He had called 911 minutes earlier, while the murderer was away in the restroom. Just before he was able to give his home address, the phone he held was sent flying into the wall, shattering into little pieces.

Without a word, Sylar swept through the front door. He jumped into his car, and began driving back to his hotel room. It was a job well done as far as he was concerned, but a part of him still wasn't satisfied.

_You should have killed them_, a voice in his head chided. But there was no real reason to worry. If they even attempted to tell the police what happened, they would be dismissed as lunatics. Plus, Sylar felt like a night on the town. Perhaps he could treat himself to a drink or two.

…

Or three, or four, or five. Sylar had lost count after the first few beers. The bar in which he sat was utterly cliché. He supposed the retro look was 'all the rage' these days.

The buzzing feeling he received from all the alcohol was oddly nostalgic. It was reminiscent of the effects of most sedatives, actually. Sylar let himself float backwards in time, remembering the first time he was taken in by the company. He had suffered so much at the hands of Noah Bennet and his team of flunkies.

Thankfully, Mohinder hadn't been half as brutal as Sylar's first 'doctor'. He could still feel that knawing pain in his head and side from all the mental and physical tests he had been forced to take part in.

The flashing disco ball on the ceiling drew him back into the present. Scowling, he set his half-empty glass down on the counter, tossing a few bills at the bartender. He resolved to take a trip back to New York some time soon.


	10. Auras

Sylar twisted and turned. His sheets had become a warped bundle of fabric, wrapped uncomfortably around his legs and waist. He muttered to himself while sleeping, slurred and disjointed sentences escaping his dry lips.

Minutes later, his eyes wrenched open. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, he sighed. It was 3:00 am. Three hours of sleep was not enough, he knew. Angrily, he forced himself from the bed and hobbled over to the room's full-length mirror. He stared at his own reflection for a few moments but eventually headed toward the bathroom.

He washed quickly in the shower, cleaning his tired body with a washcloth. Long burn marks and scars still marred his chest and shoulders from past fights, so he had to take extra care in avoiding those areas while he scrubbed. He shampooed his newly-cut hair, noticing a small hitch in his movements. His fingers had snagged on skin near the back of his skull.

Gingerly, he felt through his hair again, recalling the place where the company had put a shunt in his head. The area was bleeding slightly, turning his shampoo pink. Scowling, Sylar rinsed his hair. He dried off using a fluffy white towel, staining it fuchsia, and threw on a pair of jeans and a black tee.

Tucking his key-card into his back pocket, he exited the hotel. The watchmaker stumbled out into the late-night streets of downtown Dayton, looking utterly fatigued. He strode along the sidewalk, nearly choking when he passed a few men smoking in an alley. Hearing the thugs whisper rude things about him, Sylar flipped the lot of them over telekinetically. They had no idea it was his doing.

He smiled, knowing that he could do much worse damage if he wished. While he continued down the street, he noticed a shadowed figure standing behind him. "You're not very good at following people, are you?" Sylar asked, turning to face the person who had been stalking him.

It was a girl, he realized. She didn't look a day over twenty. She was a blonde, too, wearing a very revealing halter top, a plaid skirt, and high heeled boots. "No, not really," She beamed. "But it's not safe to be walking all alone 'round here."

Sylar raised an eyebrow, skeptically. "Ah, so you were just looking out for my safety." He said, sarcastically. The girl giggled.

"Well, a handsome guy like yourself could be picked up by any old girl on a night like this. I figured I should at least try to keep an eye out for 'ya." She explained.

The murderer was already bored of this. He rolled his eyes and continued onward, ignoring the girl still following him. Suddenly, he felt a hand grab his arm, long manicured nails digging into his pale flesh. "What the hell?" He questioned, quietly. The girl pulled him playfully down the street, holding his arm tightly.

"Come on, Gabriel. Let's have some fun." She whispered, still clinging to Sylar.

His eyebrows raised, he ripped from the girl's grip. "How do you know that name?" He asked, cornering her.

She scratched her head nervously. She didn't quite know how to explain herself. Generally she didn't just blurt out the information she received from a person's aura. "Um…" She began, but was cut off by a wave of ill-intention coming from Gabriel Gray.

Though the man in front of her hadn't yet made a move, she knew he was planning to soon. And, surely enough, Gabriel slammed her into the brick of a nearby apartment building with one hand. Her feet were inches off the ground, and the hand around her throat was causing her to gag.

"Wait!" She croaked, "Just let me go for a moment, then I'll explain. Okay, honey?" Her voice remained just as sweet and steady as it had been before she was attacked.

Sylar opened his hand, letting the girl fall to the ground. She coughed and sputtered, but eventually stood up to face him. He held his left hand out, ready to stop her if necessary.

"I can read auras," The strange girl admitted, "Basically, I can_feel _people's emotions, intentions, and, occasionally, their names."

She worried that Gabriel would think she was crazy, but she decided it was worth telling him. Running her fingers through her hair, she noticed his expression change drastically. His once-furious face seemed to melt away, leaving his features calm. This physical change in appearance was accompanied by a change in his aura as well. She could sense greed, excitement, and a twisted need to inflict pain.

"Oh shit." She whispered, bolting straight toward her apartment, using Gabriel's momentary distraction to get away. Turning back, she saw the man chasing her. After quite a lot of running, she flipped around to see Gabriel in the middle of the street, his chest heaving.

A pang of disappointment hit her, but it was not her own.


	11. Memory

Sylar found himself lying in the middle of a busy street after mere minutes of running. It was only when he looked down at his shirt that he realized the reason why. Blood was trickling silently down the side of his shirt. He had obviously strained himself too much, breaking a stitch or two in his chest.

Cursing under his breath, he held out a hand, dragging the girl back to him on an invisible thread. She kicked and screamed, trying her damnedest to stop the force pulling her, but Sylar wouldn't let up. He propped himself up, taking this mystery girl by the hand.

"Don't be scared," He purred, leading her back to the sidewalk. The prospect of a new power was driving him crazy with anticipation. "Now, why don't you tell me _your_ name, since you clearly already know mine."

The girl supposed, quite correctly, that this comment was less of a request and more of a threat. She was already a bit shaken from being unexplainably pushed toward Gabriel and the murderous look in his eye wasn't encouraging her much. "I'm Calypso." She murmured, her body shaking.

Her eyes flicked nervously to the man's bloodied shirt, while he lead her further down the street and toward the bar he had been to earlier that evening. "Such a pretty name," Gabriel whispered, pulling Calypso into the twin doors of the building. His bright, cheery voice was such a contradiction to his aura. It was repulsive.

She turned around, ready to slip back outside when the man wasn't watching, when she felt something tugging at her stomach. Looking down, she saw nothing. Gabriel strode over, his expressions slightly pained, carrying a beer and a martini. He raised an eyebrow at Calypso, and handed her a drink. "Why don't we sit here, then?" He asked, gesturing to the nearest booth.

The girl just stood by the doors, apparently stunned. Sylar scowled inwardly, wishing the girl would at least try to play along. This was supposed to be the fun part, but it really wasn't exciting without participation on both ends. "Come on. It'll be okay, I promise," He said, softly, giving her a reassuring smile. This just made the girl's eyes widen even more.

Giving a short gasp, Calypso began to push the door open. She couldn't stand being around this monster any longer. No human should be able to repress their emotions so convincingly, she mused. Before she was able to slip outside, two invisible hands clamped firmly around her waist, preventing her from moving. She stared back at Gabriel. He was very angry now.

Calypso's ability to sense auras wasn't always limited to just that. She was also privy to snatches of people's memories if she concentrated hard enough on a person's aura. This was how she had known Gabriel's name earlier. She had seen him as a child, fiddling with his father's watch. Young Gabriel had only been trying to understand how his dad's wristwatch worked, but was later scolded for being disobedient.

The memory she tapped into this time wasn't quite as clear, but it was enough to make her gag. In her mind, she saw Gabriel. He looked much cleaner, wearing a white button-down and sweater vest along with a pair of thick black glasses. He and his mother argued. The room in which they stood was like a giant snow globe. Mrs. Gray screamed, calling Gabriel a demon. Then there was blood, depicting a horrific explosion on the floor.

Shivering, Calypso snapped back into the present. She was lying on the ground, looking upward into Sylar's dark eyes. Minutes ago she had frozen under the power of his telekinesis, only to faint in the middle of the bar. "Oh, honey. We'd better get you home," Sylar said, as not to arouse any suspicion. He lifted her up, leading her out of the building with a firm hand. He secretly wished that he had killed the girl straight off, but it could have been so much fun to play with her for a bit. If only she had humored him.

Sylar dragged the girl's barely-conscious form down the street. "What the hell was that?" He snapped, impatiently. Calypso groaned, her head lolling heavily in front of her.

"Your mother…" She whispered, looking up at him pitifully.

Gabriel took a step back, puzzled. "What about her?" He asked, leading the girl into an alley. She stepped carefully, trying her best not to pass out again. The images in her mind were far too much for her to handle.

"You killed her," She whimpered.


End file.
